On the best days, BLT Screenprinting looks like it's been flooded: Heavy shelves and old iron printing machines hunker like islands in a thick drift of cast-off prints, buckets of ink, and layers of spattered paint. Flat surfaces are piled with stacks of fresh posters for local clubs like the Crocodile Cafe and the Showbox. BLT's partner in crime, Torpedo T-shirts, takes up the other end of the building. There's less paper clutter, but more stuff: huge, spider-armed screen presses mostly, and dozens of stacked cardboard boxes filled with shirts, most with local band names scrawled on the sides, waiting to be shipped out to the bands' tour vans. The little bits of actual furniture--a couch, some old office chairs, a tiny desk--seem to have beached themselves in the corner where a single old computer is almost lost beneath folder files, scribbled notes, and original artwork.

BLT and Torpedo emerged from the dissolution of BSK, a screen-printing group responsible for almost all of the great early Seattle posters. From their messy little Capitol Hill warehouse space at 1419 10th Avenue, the two businesses issue just about every beautiful artifact of the local music scene. This address is in fact one of the secret hubs of the local scene. Seattle's graphic aesthetic of the last 10 or so years was developed here, where Art Chantry, Jeff Kleinsmith, Tae Won Yu, Ellen Forney, Ed Fotheringham, Hank Trotter, The Stranger's own Joe Newton, and dozens of other artists got their work printed for local rock shows, rock bands, theaters, and other businesses.

Brian Taylor, 33, of BLT and Brian Coloff, 40, of Torpedo have both been involved in local music for the last decade: Taylor was doing T-shirts and posters for his own band, Unearth, when Coloff was in the Rhino Humpers. Taylor also works three shifts a week at the Comet Tavern and books shows there. Both Brians understand band economics, and it's their willingness to work with clients who can barely cover the practice-space rent, much less the cost of posters, that makes the shops so important to the community.

Low-fi economics is also what put both businesses in jeopardy earlier this summer, when their pressure washer's hose burst on June 27, flooding the space. "It happened in the middle of the night, of course," Taylor says. "It was just pumping out water. It flooded our place pretty good."

Amazingly, the damage was minimal, consisting mostly of ruined supplies--ink, paper, T-shirts--and a big wet mess. But Groovetech, the Internet radio station and online record store located directly below them, sustained about $3,000 worth of damage. Without insurance, BLT and Torpedo were defenseless against any demands for repayment that Groovetech or Anne Michelson, their landlady, might claim.

"Basically, [Michelson] was just really, really fucking cool about the whole thing," says Coloff. "She was going way beyond what she had to do; just the deposit for the clean-up started at $3,000, and she charged that on her card, like, immediately, before I had even got here." Likewise, Groovetech has been flexible about payment for its damages. For example, the company agreed to a payback schedule designed in part around benefit shows.

Immediate disaster averted, BLT and Torpedo still have to come up with $3,500. The music and arts community has jumped in to help. "The day after--I mean, like hours after--the thing happened," says Taylor, "the Crocodile called us, the Showbox called us, Ben London [EMP's curator of public programs] called us. Jason from Graceland was the first one who called."

A benefit show was quickly arranged at the Crocodile Cafe, and musicians from all over town--including Graig Markel, RC5, and the Lashes--played KISS covers all night, in tribute to one of Taylor's lifelong favorite bands. That event raised the first $600 toward an original payback total of $4,100.

"I've worked with Brian [Taylor] for a bunch of years now," says Ben London, who (besides his gig at EMP) plays in Sanford Arms, and was in old-school diehards Alcohol Funnycar. "When I heard it had happened, I wondered if they would get forced out of business."

"They've basically been the go-to people since I've lived here," says Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard. "And even beforehand, when we were living in Bellingham, we would send work down to them before we did tours or before we did shows. They've been there as long as we've been playing together."